


A bloody lesson he won't soon forget

by lettalady



Series: Blips and Blurbs [37]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fake Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: Prompt fulfillment:Imagine you’ve just started dating Tom & won’t go to see Coriolanus. Out of childish spite one evening he shows up at your door after a performance still covered in fake blood. When you open it you grow faint & he has to catch you when you stumble.*altered slightly to be a Halloween party vs faux blood from a performance*
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You
Series: Blips and Blurbs [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925065
Kudos: 19





	A bloody lesson he won't soon forget

**Y** ou look at the clock on the wall and huff. He’s going to make the pair of you late. “Tooooom. Come on!” He’s been in the bathroom messing with his costume for over an hour now. 

“Babe,” comes his reply, “Almost done. Just a minute more.” 

“Do you need my help?” 

“No! No. I’ve got it.” 

He won’t let you see his costume, something that is driving you batty. You’d wanted to take advantage of your first Halloween as a couple but have been shut out of the process, left to wiggle into your own costume and apply generous amounts of glitter – and then wait. The longer this fae waits in his kitchen, the more glitter sheds and begins to cover every surface. Serves him right for barricading you from the bathroom.

You roll your shoulders, feeling the wings attached to your back shift along with the motion. Carefully, you sit down in one of his kitchen chairs, your back to the bathroom - all the better to sit and stare at the clock on the wall. A few more minutes tick by. “Are you sure you don’t need help?” 

Tom’s next response comes as he opens the door to the bathroom, his laughter echoing off the tiled surfaces. “Yes, love. Because I want it to be a surprise! You didn’t get to see me in Coriolanus…. Costume doesn’t quite fit the same as it did then because, well, different workout routines but… Ok, what do you think?” 

There was a reason you didn’t go to the show. Well, more than one reason. Firstly, you’d only just started dating him and were wary of being splashed across the tabloids. Secondly, you were well aware of how bloody the play was and blood is just _not your thing_. 

You turn, not quite knowing what to expect. Did he somehow get his hands on a costume that replicated what he wore on stage? Please let it not be the threadbare sheet – or maybe _do_ let it be the threadbare sheet. Maybe the pair of you can skip the Halloween party altogether. 

When you see him you stiffen. No. Tom had not gone the route of the gown of humility. That would be better. Infinitesimally better, but better than his costume choice. Ok - the form fitting armor and jeans that might as well be painted on are lovely but the blood. Oh the blood. He’s coated in it.

“Tom!” You manage one word before the familiar feeling settles over you. Lightheadedness, warmth that floods your face, and the overwhelming feeling that gravity has suddenly increased. Your eyelids flutter. Tom’s triumphant expression over finally getting you to see him in costume shifts, panic showing on his face as he lunges towards you as you crumple to the floor. 

“Babe?” Tom’s voice pulls you from the darkness. It must have been some party the night before, you can’t remember any of it. Hopefully you remembered to take something and drink lots of water before crawling into bed. Oh - and remembered to wash off some of that glitter. And Tom… 

Tom had been covered in blood. Why can’t you remember everyone’s reactions to seeing him like that? You open your eyes a fraction to find the bright light of his kitchen rather than the soft lighting of his bedroom as you expect. It’s then that you realize that the surface beneath you isn’t an oh-so-comfortable mattress but a floor. Tom’s kitchen floor. 

Oh damn. Did you faint? 

You groan and try to sit up, an action made all the more difficult by the damned wings still attached to your back. Tom is there, gently trying to assist despite the wings being in the way. “I - I don’t do well with blood, Tom.” Even focusing on his knees rather than looking up at his upper torso or face where most of the faux-blood is concentrated, you’re still feeling the tinges of nausea. 

He shifts, reaching for a nearby dishtowel but maintaining contact with you with one hand. He gives the cloth a quick swipe over his face before trying to talk to you again. It helps but he is so thoroughly drenched in faux-blood – it’s like he showered in it. “Is your head ok? I tried to catch you…” 

Now that he mentions it - your temple hurts just a bit. At least it is within your hairline, easy to hide if a bruise results. “I’ll be ok. Bruised ego to go with a tender spot on my head.” You take a steadying breath, looking away from his face again, “Give me a minute or two.” 

Tom wipes the rag over his face again, this time attempting for areas more thoroughly coated in the sticky substance, “Are you sure? Let me get some of this off and we’ll take you to get seen.” 

“I’m sorry, Tom. I should have told you…” 

“I should be the one apologizing… Are you sure you’re ok, babe? I nearly had a heart attack! One minute you’re standing there scowling impatiently and the next…” He pauses, “You’re still beyond pale. Do you need something to drink?” 

You shake your head, closing your eyes and trying to force your body to cooperate. You _will not_ pass out again. You _will not_. He’s still bumping about in the kitchen, ignoring your assurances that you don’t need anything other than a bit of time to allow your body to return to feeling normal. “So, now you know why I never went to a showing of Corio…” 

Tom chuffs and tosses the saturated dishrag into the sink. He leans back against the counter, hesitant to draw closer until he’s sure you’ll not pass out on him again. He’ll have to wash off completely to ensure that. “Yes. A lesson I won’t soon forget.” 


End file.
